


a spark to ignite

by chromyrose



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Embarrassment, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Impressions, Friendship, Insecurity, M/M, Miscommunication, Post episode 10, Romance, Self Confidence Issues, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 07:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8789065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chromyrose/pseuds/chromyrose
Summary: Yuuri finds out about the real first impression he made on Viktor, and has a massive meltdown about it. 
(Good thing Phichit's there to kick him in the ass.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> My immediate reaction to episode 10 was unfortunately not a positive one; the situation with Yuuri's druken shenanigans at the last Grand Prix banquet, the fact that he didn't remember it, and what we saw in the photographs brought up some terrible memories for me and made me outright distressed. I relate to Yuuri a lot, and placing myself in his shoes, I knew that I would feel incredibly insecure in my relationship if my lover had seen what Viktor saw (and then proceeded to push me to embrace my "Eros" on top of that). 
> 
> I spoke to some other people, but no one really seemed to see it the way I did. And I woke up in the middle of the night and I was still thinking about this but some of the things my friends said must have synthesized in my head while I was sleeping because this fic starting forming and resolving all these problems I had understanding the episode. 
> 
> tl;dr, please enjoy this fic I wrote at 4:00 am to make myself not have anxiety over Viktuuri. Also, for people reading this in the future, I wrote this before episode 11 so I have no idea how canon-compliant it will be next week!
> 
> Title is from Fall Out Boy's song _My Songs Know What You Did in the Dark_.

Yuuri sees the photos on Viktor's phone, on Chris' phone, on Yuri's phone, and then promptly pushes himself out of his seat and sloppily gets to his feet, which feel like liquid beneath him. It's almost like he's drunk, which is so poignantly ironic because not only hasn't he had a single drop of alcohol, but apparently he's a _happy drunk_ , the life of the party. Like father like son, except he doubts that his father has ever _pole danced_ in front of a crowd of elites and skating geniuses. 

Yuuri does what he does best; he immediately heads for the bathroom, locks himself into a stall, pulls his knees up, and sobs into his forearms. He feels humiliated, and it's like there's a mold growing in his stomach, spreading through his blood. He remembers crying in the bathroom after the last Grand Prix Final; he'd lost both the medal and his beloved Vicchan, and punished himself by bearing that burden alone, crying where no one would find him. 

He doesn't have the luxury of crying in solitude this year. The bathroom door creaks when someone pushes it open, and when feet stop in front of his stall, his breath catches; he knows those shoes, has seen them in hotel rooms and genkans for months. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor calls, his voice unreadable. Yuuri tries to picture his expression and comes up with multiple options: stoic coach face, puppy-dog pout, brows furrowed in confusion. He has to be content guessing, because he has no plans of opening the door. 

If there's anything to be grateful for, it's that the few wrenching sobs he got out before were all the ones he had in him, and now he's crying silently. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor repeats, and now his tone is very familiar, soft and intimate. He must be speaking right up against the door. “What's wrong?”

_'What's right?'_ Yuuri thinks pathetically. Out loud, all he can manage to say is, “I didn't know.” 

Viktor's sigh resounds in small room. “I'm sorry, Yuuri. I thought you did. Though in hindsight, maybe the night before the Grand Prix Final wasn't the best time to bring it up–“

A bitter laugh rips out of Yuuri's throat. “You don't say?” He croaks. “Even if I had known, why would I want to relive that night ever, much less now?” 

“You were enjoying yourself,” Viktor answers. “In all the photos, the smile you have. Even in person, it was radiant. It was memorable.”

Yuuri hiccups. “Is _that_ why you came to Japan? Because I... because I threw myself at you and cried and begged you to?”

“That's not what happened,” Viktor said sharply, his voice honed like a knife. “I won't deny that I remembered you asking me to be your coach when I saw the video, but it was your skating that convinced me. It always has been.”

“We danced together,” Yuuri said. His voice was shaking with the effort of speaking at all. “I took all my clothes off. I... Fuck, that's why Christophe grabbed my ass when he saw me China. I thought it was just him, but it was _me_. He must think I'm some kind of–“ 

Realization runs like ice water through Yuuri's veins. “That's why you gave me Eros. It wasn't to challenge me at all. You already knew it was there! You just wanted to see how much of it you could tease out!” 

“Why are you saying that like it's a bad thing?” Viktor replies slowly, his voice thick. “Your Eros is a part of you. And I thought, if you could just see it sober, see it the way I see it, you would be able to see how deep you really are, Yuuri. There's so much more to you than you even know. You never stop surprising me.”

“That makes two of us,” he huffs. Louder, he demands, “Tell me the truth, Viktor. Am I just another conquest to you? Just a treat? What will happen once you get bored of me?”

There's a long silence. Someone opens the bathroom door, but he apologizes immediately and leaves. _What does Viktor look like right now?_

“I thought you understood me, Yuuri,” he answers finally, voice like a knife again. “I will never get bored of you.” 

The heels of his shoes click on the tile floor, and when the door swings shut after him, Yuuri sobs again. He pushes his glasses onto his forehead so he can wipe his eyes, keeps them there because they're so tear stained he can't actually see out of them, anyways. 

The bathroom door opens again. Yuuri holds his breath, prays that someone has just come in to pee. So of course, there's another knock on the stall he's in.

“Those were some wild photos, Yuuri,” Phichit's sunshine voice rings out. “Who knew you had it in you?"

“T-This isn't the time, Phichit,” Yuuri scolds him, voice cracking. The door to his stall shakes at the hinges, but it's locked from the inside.

“This is the time, Yuuri. Best friend time. Don't make me crawl in from another stall!”

He would do it, too; that's the kind of guy Phichit is. And for all that Yuuri wants to be left alone so that he can question everything, poke holes in the love he thought he'd had for months until he's explained away every tender moment he and Viktor have ever shared, make himself miserable, he would feel guilty if Phichit ruined his pants crawling around on dirty bathroom floors. So he unlocks the stall and looks up at the blurry face of his friend, making out his smile easily even when his eyes hurt so much.

“You're a mess,” Phichit comments jovially, stepping into the stall and locking the door behind him again. The space isn't meant for two grown men, so their knees touch too much and Phichit's back is probably brushing the door, but he doesn't seem to mind at all. He pulls a good amount of toilet paper off of the roll and wipes Yuuri's nose for him without hesitation. “Only you could come to a party with the world's most eligible bachelor as your fiancé and still find a reason to cry in a bathroom.”

“I don't even know if we're even engaged!” Yuuri cries. “That... that seems too good to be true.” 

Phichit sighs. “You're both wearing identical gold rings on your fourth finger and that somehow isn't clear enough?”

“I... I gave it to him as a thank-you gift. For being my coach.”

“That's what you said, but I don't think that's what you really meant. Search your feelings, Yuuri. You will know it to be true.”

“Don't _Star Wars_ at me while I'm in the middle of a crisis!” Yuuri all but screeches, mostly because he doesn't want to laugh. But Phichit is so affable, it's hard to resist his charms and good vibes.

“Where's the crisis coming from?” Phichit asks, squatting so he's at eye level with Yuuri. His thighs are so strong, he's not even flinching. He fluffs some of Yuuri's bangs away from his face, which is gross because he's sweaty from the exertion of crying, and grabs his glasses. He breaths onto each lens and wipes them on the tail of his shirt. “Are you sure you're not just embarrassed?”

“That, but also... What if this is why Viktor wanted to coach me? Because... I don't know. Because I was this other, flamboyant, exhibitionist person, and it made him... you know, curious.”

“Everyone has to meet other people somehow, Yuuri. You made an impression, that's all.”

“But it was a _bad_ impression – it was nothing like who I am!”

“Don't you think Viktor knows that by now? He's been coaching you for almost a year, yeah?”

“Eight months...” Yuuri mumbles.

“Eight months! And you think he's still here just because he wants to have sex with you?” Phichit laughs out loud, and slides Yuuri's glasses back on his face; Yuuri reaches up to adjust them, so the arms don't end up in his ears. “Listen to yourself. If all Viktor wanted was sex, he would have tried to take it by now, or given up because you're not the kind of guy to put out to just anyone. Even his _idol_ –“

“–S-Shut up!–“

“Haha! Nope, making a point here. You're being really hard on Viktor. I mean, even you must have noticed the way he looks at you, like you're responsible for vodka and rainbows and poodles and whatever else he likes.”

“Katsudon,” Yuuri mutters under his breath.

“What?”

“Katsudon. H-His favorite food, it's katsudon.”

Phichit's eyes are impossibly wide, and he smacks Yuuri –gently– on the thigh.

“You're kidding me, Yuuri. This guy has it _so bad_ for you. What did he say when you gave you your ring?”

Yuuri looks down at his hand, where the gold glitters even under the poor bathroom fluorescents. “H-He said, 'Show me the skating you can honestly say you liked the best.'”

Phichit smiles softly at Yuuri. “All Ciao Ciao told me was that if I didn't place, he'd make me run the Zamboni for two months. And that I'd be letting all of Thailand down, and that I didn't make it this far not to take it all – you know, coach stuff. It sounds like Viktor just wants you to be happy.”

Yuuri had to press his palm to his chest, just to control the burst of warmth in his heart. “Yeah... oh fuck, Phichit, I messed up.”

“Uh-huh.”

“If... if Viktor really just wanted me because of that... that wild drunk guy I was... he would have noticed months ago that that isn't me, and he wouldn't have wasted his time on me.”

“Right, I just said that. Except nicer.”

“And even though he never said, you know, 'I want to marry you,' or 'I'm in love with you,' directly... he's declared and shown me his love a million different ways. And I just got so blinded by my own embarrassment, I forgot everything.”

“Cosmo says the key to a healthy relationship is good communication!” Phichit asserts, holding up a finger as if he's the expert. “If you want Viktor to say or do something that he's not already saying or doing, you need to be the one to tell him. You can't wait for him to read your mind, Yuuri. Especially not since it's kind of a wreck up there.”

“Says the 20 year old who still reads 'Cosmo'.” Yuuri pouts.

“They have the best hair care tips! Look how silky and shiny my ends are, Yuuri, look at them!” 

He butts his head gently against Yuuri's chin, laughing, and Phichit's laughter is contagious. Yuuri puts his hand on his friend's head to push him away carefully, and kind of hates that Phichit is right, his hair is _so soft_.

“Now's not the time. I have to go talk to Viktor. I can't... we can't go into the Grand Prix Final like this!"

Phichit gets to his feet again with a little gasp as his legs stretch out, then holds the door to the stall open and bows. “Don't forget this when you're picking your best man.”

“As if that isn't already you,” Yuuri sighs. “Thank you, Phichit.”

“No problem, no problem. Now go, because if Viktor's out there being a sad weepy drunk I won't be able to stop myself from tweeting it!”

\--

Fortunately, Viktor is not out there being a sad, weepy drunk, but he is holding his glass of wine and staring at the table, obviously looking at nothing at all. Christophe jostles his arm a little, tries to get him involved in the conversation, and Yuri's taken Yuuri's empty seat and he's talking in rapid Russian, probably cursing every person in the Katsuki family line – and okay, Yuuri probably deserves that.

Viktor doesn't even notice when Yuuri gets to the table, but the others do. Christophe shrugs a bit helplessly at him, with a soft, endearing smile that shows nothing but concern. Yuri turns to him, jumps out of his chair, and starts screaming in his face; there's definitely spit landing on Yuuri's cheeks.

Again, probably deserved. 

“–So you have to fucking fix him!” He snarls, and Yuuri nods. He shyly puts his right hand over Viktor's, and Viktor immediately looks up.

“Yuuri,” he says, his expression and voice both carefully devoid of emotion. It's Viktor's way of being defensive, pretending that he isn't a deeply emotional person, that he's not entirely invested in how this conversation will go. It shakes Yuuri because he hasn't seen this side of him often, and not for months. But he smiles and hopes it doesn't show.

“Let's go to bed,” he says without fanfare, without dressing up his words so that they have at least a veneer of modesty; this is the man he shares a bed with, and nothing makes him happier.

Viktor rises to his feet and grabs his bags; Yuuri grabs his, and reaches to interlock their fingers. The walk back to the hotel is silent and tense, but Yuuri needs time to plan his words, and he needs privacy so he can be honest.

When they shut the door to their room behind them, Yuuri kneels and cups Viktor's ankle, lifting his foot so he can remove his shoe, and does the same for the other. Viktor's curious now, Yuuri can feel his inquisitive eyes without having to look up at them, but the silence persists. Viktor had the last word in the restaurant bathroom; it's Yuuri's turn to speak.

He gets to his feet again and kisses Viktor's lips tenderly. “I'm sorry that I doubted you, Viktor. It was more than unfair for me to accuse you of having bad intentions just because I was feeling embarrassed.”

Viktor sighs, running a hand through his bangs and up along his scalp. “Do you really think I don't truly and completely adore you, Yuuri? Don't you believe I've never loved anything or anyone this much before?”

“It's... It's something I know,” Yuuri assures him, and takes a deep breath. “I'm sorry. You've done so much for me, but I still... I still tend to get insecure, Viktor. That isn't about you. I just... look at you sometimes, and I wonder how you could possibly be next to me. It seems too good to be true, sometimes.”

Viktor looks a little bit wounded, and Yuuri is afraid he's miscommunicated, somehow. But then Viktor says, “Has it never occurred to you that I look at you and think the same thing?”

“Wha... What?” Yuuri replies, eyes wide. Viktor sighs again, but he pulls Yuuri into his chest, rests his cheek on the crown of Yuuri's head.

“Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would love someone this much. Not because I didn't think it was possible; I just thought it wasn't possible _for me_. I could never find a partner who matched me step for step, who waited for me if they pulled ahead. I never found someone I was willing to wait for, until I met you. And I didn't realize that last year at the banquet, or from the video. One day I woke up, and you were there in my arms, and I realized I never wanted to wake up without you again.”

Yuuri can feel the heat in his cheeks, and tears spill from his aching eyes again.

“Viktor,” he croaks. “I'm _so sorry._ I... I got so used to thinking of you as someone that anyone would kill to have that... I think I forgot to think about what you want. All I thought about was how I could keep you happy so that no one else could ever take you from me.”

“No one ever will.” Viktor says simply, confidently, and Yuuri fists his hands in his shirt before arching up to kiss him again and again. 

He thinks about the first impressions he made on Viktor: coming in dead last at the Grand Prix Final, getting wasted on champagne and pole dancing in his underwear. He thinks about the first impressions Viktor made on him: hair flowing like a ribbon behind him as he skated on TV, a false smile and an empty “commemorative photo” offer, an Adonis rising out of the baths at Yu-topia, holding his hand out and declaring himself Yuuri's coach. Perhaps none of them are ideal, given what they have become, but they never had to be anything; just enough to spark an interest in each other.

And yes, Yuuri is ashamed that he stripped and danced at a very high profile event, and yes, he's even more ashamed that he can't even remember it himself, that he didn't believe it until presented with copious photo evidence, but if that needed to happen in order to Viktor to be pushing him down on the bed with his mouth, teeth on his lips, hands up his shirt, then Yuuri honestly can't say he regrets it.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what your thoughts and/or reactions were to episode 10, and how you think my fic interprets "the aftermath". Comments, bookmarks, and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Find me elsewhere on [twitter](http://twitter.com/haikyuutiie) or [tumblr](http://zahhaked.tumblr.com).


End file.
